


I Now Pronounce You Mrs. Winchester

by Pineprin137



Series: Dean and Molly [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Brotherly Bonding, Case Fic, Dean Winchester Whump, Dean/Molly - Freeform, Drunk Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, F/M, Heavy Angst, Implied Sexual Content, No Smut, POV Multiple, Sam is definitely the brains of this operation...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:26:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 21,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21908914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pineprin137/pseuds/Pineprin137
Summary: I am so proud of this! It's my first official case fic. I've been working on it for almost a year and I finally finished it! I hope you guys enjoy even though it's not Wincest or a sick fic.There is HEAVY angst in this, but I tried to include some humor and feel-good stuff as well so hopefully, it isn't too dark. Please keep in mind that each chapter is a new POV (Sam, Dean, or Molly).
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Dean and Molly [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1373629
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am so proud of this! It's my first official case fic. I've been working on it for almost a year and I finally finished it! I hope you guys enjoy even though it's not Wincest or a sick fic. 
> 
> There is HEAVY angst in this, but I tried to include some humor and feel-good stuff as well so hopefully, it isn't too dark. Please keep in mind that each chapter is a new POV (Sam, Dean, or Molly).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POV: Molly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is also my first time writing a fic with multiple POV. It changes by chapter so I hope it isn't too confusing.

“Babe? Have you seen my pants? They’re not in the closet where I left them after the last case.” 

I glance over my shoulder and almost drop the spatula into the bowl of batter. Your short hair is still wet, your tie hanging loose around your neck. You’re wearing an unbuttoned white dress shirt and a matching pair of black cotton boxer briefs and dress socks. I swallow and lick my lips… _good morning to_ _me_. I shake my head a little to pull my thoughts from the gutter and try to focus on your missing pants.

“Uh, no. I haven’t seen them. Maybe Sam took them? I noticed he had the iron out earlier.” Understanding shows on your face and I raise an inquisitive eyebrow in your direction. 

“The stain! He must’ve grabbed ‘em to take care of it before we head out. Hey, don’t give me that look! It’s not my fault the world’s tastiest burger has four patties with all the fixin’s. Believe me, Molly, it was  _ so _ worth a stain.” 

“Uh-huh. And the stomach ache that lasted a grand total of...  _ three _ days? Was it worth that too?” You shrug. I laugh and roll my eyes. 

Our conversation has you practically drooling on the kitchen floor so I turn back to the stove and pour batter onto the hot griddle. Pancakes are one of the few things I know how to make and you always request them before you leave. I suppose it is kind of a pre-hunt tradition for me to feed you and your brother as many fluffy pancakes as you can stand before heading out. 

It is always hard when you guys leave. I worry, of course. But more than that, the resulting silence is almost too much. See, the bunker is full of noise on a normal day; you in the garage singing along while washing the Impala or the sound of Sam turning page after page in the library, but when you guys are gone on a hunt, so is the ambient noise. No background music, no quiet reassuring presence of someone else. It’s just me, alone in a giant secret underground clubhouse. I’ve only been living with you and your brother for a little over a year, but the dusty shelves and angel warding-covered walls have become my home. That’s not true. I love the bunker, I do. But  _ you _ , you’re my real home. 

After six large flapjacks, you sling your green duffel over a shoulder and lean down to kiss me goodbye. I never let you leave without a kiss. Even if we’re in the middle of a fight, I still force you to kiss me on the cheek before you step one foot out of the bunker. Truth is, I know that no matter how well you and Sam train or how much research and preparation you do, there is always a chance that it could be our last kiss. It is a rather morbid thought, but it is also scarily accurate. I trust you, and Sam. I know that he would die for you, but unfortunately for me, you would die for him just as easily. Hell, you’ve  _ already _ died for Sam… more than once! Whether voluntary or circumstantial, you never hesitate to save your brother. I will always be second in your heart, but it is okay. As long as I have a small space there, I am happy to share it. 

I watch as you both slide into the car and listen as she roars to life in the garage. Earlier, you claimed that  _ Sam _ had complained about it being too cold to pull her out front, but we both know it was an unnecessary lie. I joined Sam in his room to double-check that neither of you would freeze, the Winchesters will not die of hypothermia on my watch! With one last wave you pull out and I watch the doors shut behind you.  _ Be safe.  _

I keep myself busy over the next two days with laundry and cleaning in between binge-watching some of my favorite shows. Fall is in full swing, but it is rare that I have a chance to deep clean so I take advantage of your absence. Plus, it’s a  _ huge _ bunker and there are a lot of rooms to clean… though, I do leave the dungeon alone. You couldn’t pay me enough to venture in there. You send texts to assure me you are alive and well. Mostly little quips about Sam and the town you are staying in. Apparently, the motel owner is quite an interesting character… But a few times you get unusually sappy and call so we can talk about the future. The conversation is rather disconcerting coming from you. 

_ “Hey, babe… I-- I miss you, Molly. Sam’s just not the same, you know? He’s too big to be the little spoon.”  _ I chuckle at the weak attempt at humor. 

You sound upset, but if I ask, you definitely won’t tell me anything so I just wait. Rustling indicates you’re lying down on the cheap motel bedspread covered with ‘obnoxious grandma flowers’. You don’t say anything for a few minutes so I assure you that I haven’t found a new big spoon yet and inquire about the case. 

“How’s it going? Any clue who the ghost is? You thought it was a ghost, right?” 

_ “Shit. Molly, I don’t know. We thought it was just a ghost, but when we went to the church the EMF didn’t even register. Then we tried the old cold spots trick and found nada. So now Sammy’s out doing more research and I’m just hanging here because there’s only one tiny little bar in this town and it’s closed for fucking renovations!”  _

I frown into the phone and settle deeper into your La-Z-Boy. It’s comforting, smells so much like you that if I close my eyes, I can almost feel your arms around me. You’re lost in a full-blown rant about the tiny ass town and the boring residents so I get up and pull the big blanket from the back of the couch before returning to the chair and curling up in it so I can sift through rom-com options on Netflix. 

_ “Molly? You there?” _

I pull my attention from the screen and return it to our conversation. “Yeah, hon. I’m here.” 

Your voice drops to a whisper. I strain to hear the words through our crappy connection. 

_ “We were driving to the church and there was this playground with all these kids running around and… I don’t know. I just kind of started thinking about us and… the future and shit.”  _

Eloquent as ever, my love. I offer a small noise of encouragement and hope you’ll continue. It’s so rare that we talk about this. You’re either on a case or Sam is in the room so the only chance we get to discuss the serious stuff is while lying in bed together. You’ve opened up a lot in the past year about your family and your past, but lately, once your head hits the pillow, you’re out. 

_ “I just...shit, Molly, I want you to be happy. I don’t want you to feel like you’re trapped with me and Sam. I know this isn’t the life you imagined living. It’s not easy and it’s scary as hell. I honestly don’t know how you do it... But what about more, Molly? Don’t you want more with your life? Sylvia told me that you used to dream about being an editor when you were in high school, but you never pursued it. I- I don’t want to be the reason you gave up on your dream.” _

__ I’m speechless. Sylvia told you that? Wow. For once, my sister has managed to impress me. She had no business telling you that, but she had no way of knowing that she was adding ammunition to your constant battle of self-loathing and guilt. 

_ “Molly, I saw those kids and I thought about what I can really offer you, you know? Being a hunter is not lucrative and with my fucked up childhood, hell, my life, I’m not sure I even want to have kids.”  _

Now,  _ that _ is news to me. You love kids. And you’re amazing with them. Sam told me so many stories about all the kids you’ve saved. Not to mention Sam himself. You raised him and he turned out to be a pretty great guy. 

You sigh,  _ “I mean, I- I  _ want _ kids. It’s just if I- if  _ we- _ had any I wouldn’t want to raise them in the hunter life.”  _

I open my mouth to respond, but you cut me off,  _ “Oh, Sam’s back. I better see what he dug up. I’ll text you later.” _

__ “Oh- Okay. Love you.” Glancing at the phone screen, I see I’m talking to myself.  _ Ouch. _ The unintentional rejection stings. 

With a heavy sigh, I pick the remote back up, move from your chair over to the couch and snuggle in for a late-night viewing of  _ Kate and Leopold _ . You aren’t a huge fan of romance flicks so when you’re gone, I watch as many sappy, tear-inducing, kleenex-grabbing movies as I can. About two minutes into the movie my phone buzzes and I look down to see a text from you.

_ Love you too <3  _

I smile and hit the play button. As the main credits roll, there’s another buzz and I pull my attention from the TV to read the latest message. 

_ Sam says thats a heart looks like ice cream 2 me _ . I laugh and roll my eyes.

It’s eerie being alone in the bunker, but the movie helps to fill the silence. I curl up under the blanket and pull a pillow into my arms. It’s not even close to you, but it eases the ache a little. I miss you terribly right now. I smile and chuckle when the movie calls for it but only make it about halfway through before my eyes slip closed. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POV: Dean

I roll over and swing my feet to the floor taking a few minutes to stretch my back and check on Sammy. He’s currently sprawled on top of the covers. I shake my head at his insistence to work through the night. Sure,  _ I _ do that. But that’s me. Sam’s different. He needs his beauty sleep. I close the laptop on the table, unlace his boots and then toss his legs onto the actual bed and slip a pillow under his head. A big brother’s work is never done. Not even when little brother is fast approaching forty. I make my way into the tiny bathroom to piss and brush my teeth then peel off my shorts and turn the water on. I’m praying the hot water will last long enough to get clean  _ after _ getting a little dirty. 

It’s not hard,  _ heh _ , to get off this morning. Just a few tugs on my dick and then I’m groaning as I shoot my load towards the drain. I take my time soaping up and dragging my hands over my sore body. I haven’t been sleeping very well and it’s starting to show. Too many thoughts in my head about you and me. I’ve been thinking a lot about the future, lately. Whether it includes you, where we would live, what I would do if I left the life. It’s not like I have a long list of marketable skills. And then there’s Sammy… I can’t leave him. Even though I love you, want to be with you, I can’t find it in me to leave my brother behind. 

Clenching my jaw, I scrub my hands against my head.  _ Man, this is why I hate feelings!  _ Take one moment to try and sift through them and all you get is frustrated and even more confused.  _ Awesome. _

After the shower, I dig through my duffel to find a clean t-shirt then pull my fed suit from the hanger on the door. I get dressed quickly, grab Baby’s keys, and hurry out to pick up breakfast from the little cafe down the street. Sam begged to eat somewhere other than a diner today and it’s the only place I can see from our door. I may be willing to accommodate his request, but I’m not going to waste time driving all over just to see if there are other options. 

The barista flirts at me while I wait for the order, but I use the time to pull out my phone and check for any messages from you. Nothing. I frown as I grab my coffee and take a sip. The caffeine provides a welcome jolt and I suddenly realize it’s only  _ now _ seven in Lebanon and you are probably sleeping in. After you moved in about a year ago, I quickly realized that you, my dear, are  _ not _ an early riser. 

I shoot you a quick ‘ _ good morning’ _ then grab the bags of food and coffee, head back to the motel. When I arrive, Sam is in the shower and the laptop is already hard at work once again. I sigh and set down the insulated cups before digging in the sack to pull out my breakfast, the highly recommended, guest-favorite, glistening-with-a-layer-of-delicious-grease Lumberjack Stack and a lumpy bowl of oatmeal with a side of fruit for Sam. I grimace at the mess of mushy gray slop and take another swig of scalding black coffee. Sam comes out twenty minutes later looking like a drowned rat while I’m finishing up my pancakes. I moan obscenely just to annoy him and smirk when he rolls his eyes.  _ Too easy. _

I lean back in my chair and roll my shoulders, ask him, “So what’s the plan today?” 

He rubs his hair with a threadbare towel. I growl and protect my buttery pancakes from stray water drops. When he sits down, I slide the bowl of ‘organic’ oatmeal (that may be, but it still looks like a bowl of three-day-old gravy, so  _ no, thank you _ .) in front of him and pass the cup of fruit. He nods his thanks and then starts tapping away at the keyboard with one hand while he eats with the other. 

“Well, last night you said that the evidence points to a cursed object and the witness statements all point to ghost so I’m thinking maybe it’s both? I mean, is that possible?” Sam looks at me and I shrug.  _ Never heard of it, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t possible. _

He continues, “I’m thinking it is. Someone dies because of a cursed object and then they hang around and become attached to said object…  _ which would explain _ …” 

The clacking of the keys speeds up as the wheels turn in his head. I finish my pancakes and sip my coffee while he follows the new lead. My phone buzzes on the table. I check to make sure Sam is still deep in find-the-missing-piece mode; he is, so I grab it and smile when I see the incoming text is from you. 

**_M:_ ** _ Mrph.  _

Yeah, definitely not a morning person. I reply with the worst grammar I can come up with. It drives you nuts, but when you’re annoyed you’re adorable

**D:** gud morning to u 2.

**_M:_ ** _ Shut up. It’s too early.  _

**D:** not that early. was up @ 6

**_M:_ ** _ Yippee for you. Can I go back to bed now????? _

Dammit. I was hoping that you would get at least a few nights of good sleep while Sam and I are gone. Guess not.

**D:** u not sleep well?

**_M:_ ** _ No. The bed is too big without you.  _

**D:** not long now babe. sam found something last nite

I chuckle softly. Too big, huh? Funny, since you normally say there’s not enough room for both of us. Although it isn’t _my_ fault you sleep like a fuckin’ octopus. I swear you grow at _least_ three extra limbs at night.

Sam glances up when I laugh so I reluctantly set the phone down and pay attention to my brother. So _ demanding _ . 

“And how is Molly doing this morning?” Sam asks with a smirk. 

He swings the laptop around so I can see it. Not that it makes any sense to me. He has about twenty different tabs open and as far as I can tell the topics vary. 

“She’s good.  _ Lonely, _ ” I wink at him and then gesture to the mess of web browsers, “Seriously, dude? The hell am I supposed to be looking at?” 

“Oh, right! Sorry.” Sam grabs the computer back and starts clicking, “Let me just close this one,  _ these ones _ \- oh, yeah, you don’t need to see  _ that _ . Okay, here.” 

This time when he shows me the screen there are only two pages open. I do a quick read-through of both and find that one is about death omens,  _ ‘kay, makes sense _ , while the other is a… schedule of events for the church here in town. We stopped by it after we arrived to check for EMF and got nada so I’m a little confused. 

Sitting back, I cross my arms. “So you think the  _ ghost _ they’re seeing is actually a  _ death omen _ that’s trying to warn people about a cursed object. The  _ same _ cursed object that killed the death omen?” He nods. I reach for my cooling coffee, “ _ Jesus…  _ ”

I hate cold coffee and if it goes icy because of Sammy’s little brainstorm moment, I  _ will _ force him to buy me a new one. Not that I expect him to argue. He’s the one that claims I get ‘grumpy’ when I don’t have caffeine and we have a long list of things to do today, including interviewing a couple of witnesses. 

Sam speaks up, “Speaking of Jesus, I think the best way to get a read on possible cursed objects is to attend the evening service tonight. The police reports stated that each death occurred in the church during a scheduled activity. One guy died at the potluck dinner last month, then a lady during bingo three weeks ago. The third and fourth were a married couple who both died during group counseling sessions.” 

I look up from my coffee cup at the last bit of news. “Wait. They died together?”

Sam shakes his head and takes a sip from his own cup after adding a shit ton of sugar.  _ Dude’s going to die of diabetes one day, I swear. _

“Actually, no. One was on a Tuesday during a session for-- ” he shuffles some papers around until he finds what he’s looking for “-- gambling addiction and the other was this past Monday at the…  _ oh. _ ” His face pales and I reach for the paper so I can read it myself.

_ Our sincerest condolences go out to the Larsen family during this tragedy. We will miss Laura dearly,  _

_ Mommy and Me Monday group  _

_ Oh, shit. _ This is not good. I scan the page until I find the actual obituary. The last victims were not just a married couple. No, they were also loving parents to a little girl and an eight-month-old son. My heart skips a beat as the anger rises. Couldn’t be an easy ghost, could it? No, it has to be a fucking  _ family _ destroyed by a misguided death omen! 

I keep my eyes on the newspaper as I slowly set it down on the table. 

“Dean?” 

I ignore my brother and drain the rest of my cold coffee. The cup crumples in my fist as I stand. Grabbing my phone and keys, I stalk towards the door. I open it then pause and turn so he can hear me clearly.

“This Casper is _ gonna burn,  _ Sammy. You got that? I don’t care if it’s in the middle of the fucking church during choir practice, we are ending it.” 

Sam meets my eyes, nods once. I grab my coat and slam the door. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POV: Sam

Dean stalks out of the room and I shiver against the gust of chilly fall air that sneaks in. I hate when there are kids involved. Not only does it complicate things logistically, but it also riles us up emotionally. Dean’s sole focus is now the dead parents, but I have a feeling that the cursed object is the main issue here, not the death omen. 

I pull up some photos of past events on the church website to see if anything stands out, but unfortunately, this is a small town so the entire congregation of thirty people is practically in every photo. Each member is smiling or laughing, holding hands or praising the Lord. I sigh. These poor people have no clue what’s really going on in their church. 

I grab my coat and hat then head back to the library on foot. I’m not surprised to find the Impala is no longer parked outside our room. Dean obviously needs time to cool off and I can use the free time to investigate the church photos. The chill in the air is crisp and I’m glad I brought a few extra accessories this time around. Dean always makes fun of me when I wear the knitted hat Charlie made for me a few years ago, but my hair won’t be completely dry for another hour or so and I prefer to stay warm. 

The library isn’t very crowded and the clerk from yesterday smiles at me as I walk in and request a computer. Instead of just handing me the ‘In Use’ sign, she leads me over to Number Five and attaches it herself. I offer her a somewhat confused smile since she already showed me what to do yesterday when I came in to print off the dead couple’s obituaries. 

When I lean down to settle in the chair, she pinches my ass and I yelp. Several heads turn in our direction and my cheeks go bright red as I all but fall into the chair. The older woman just winks at me and chuckles as she walks back to the desk. After taking a moment to compose myself, I pull up the church’s site and print the event pictures. I want a closer look so I can see if any of the attendees are wearing jewelry or holding anything. 

The worst part about cursed objects is that they can literally be anything, so the object could actually be in someone’s pocket in one of the pictures. I think back on the case Dean and I worked with Garth a few years back . The cursed object from that one had turned out to be a fucking penny! 

The Civil War-era coin yanked off of a string inside a Confederate soldier’s desecrated grave had caused three deaths before we took care of it. It had even worked it’s mojo on Dean, causing him to pull a gun on me. The penny amplified feelings of betrayal and caused the holder to become violent enough to kill. That case had been a few weeks after he got back from Purgatory, a few weeks after I left my life in Kermit to be with him. The penny took how hurt he felt at learning I didn’t look for him after he and Cas disappeared and twisted the pain into a murderous rage. Purgatory is still one of my greatest regrets. While I was living it up with Amelia, my big brother was trapped with ‘thirty-one flavors of bottom-dwelling nasties’ in ‘God’s armpit’ . 

I run a hand through my damp hair and sigh. Now is not the time to wallow in past mistakes. We have a job to do. And if we do it, maybe we can save a lot of people. I push back from the table, grab the printouts, give a small wave and a weary smile to the clerk as I hand her the placard and then head out. 

The walk from the motel to the library takes me along the main road, all the way through town. It is a little chilly, but not so cold that I am not going to appreciate all of the fall foliage that lines the streets. While admiring the trees, I do a double-take. The Impala is parked in front of the courthouse. That’s odd. Why on earth would Dean be at the court-- ah. Next to the courthouse is a somewhat shoddy looking building named Pete’s Pitcher with a sign in the window. 

_ Closed for Renovations _

Dammit, Dean. I quickly cross the street and am just about to walk around back to find a spot to squeeze through when my phone rings. I pull it out and answer without looking. I find the boards he loosened to get in and grab the crowbar lying on the ground. I freeze when I register the voice on the other end of the line though. 

_ “Sam? Is everything okay with you guys? I’m a little worried about Dean.” _

__ “Molly? What’s wrong?” 

_ “Well, he called me. I was in the shower and when I got out I had a message from him. But Sam he sounded… drunk.” _

__ “Shit.” I curse and thump my head against the wall. 

_ “Why is he drunk at two in the afternoon? Is he okay? I mean, you guys are on the case still, right?” _

__ Thanks a lot, Dean. Now I have to try to explain your messed up psyche to your very worried girlfriend. 

I sigh, “It’s just this case we’re working on. It, uh, there are these kids who were orphaned because of what’s happening and it got to him. He stormed out late this morning, I just figured out he was at the bar. Dean gets a little touchy when kids are involved, especially if they’re left on their own. He’ll be okay though, Molly. He just has to work through his emotions and we both know how he does that… ”

_ “Just take care of him, Sam. Bring him home to me in one piece, okay?”  _

“I will. I’ll text you when I find him.” With that, I hang up and use the crowbar to pry off one more board so I can fit through the narrow gap.

Dean startles and pulls his gun on me, but I put my hands up slowly and nod to the table where his shot glass tipped over. 

“You’re going to let that go to  _ waste _ ? Who are you and what have you done with my brother?”

He frowns at me for a second then his eyes go wide and he spins around. My laughter turns into an aborted gag when he slurps spilled tequila off of the dirty tabletop. 

“Ugh, seriously, Dean? You have no idea what kind of bacteria could be on that!” 

I walk over to my drunk brother and steady him when he sways. “It’s got m’ shot on it now, s’ all that matters.” 

Well, shit. If he’s slurring that means he has done some serious damage. “How much have you had?” 

He smiles at me and laughs before concentrating hard on counting his fingers. I roll my eyes and check out our surroundings. There is a half-full bottle of tequila on the table in front of him. An empty bottle of-- I roll it with my shoe-- Fireball Whiskey on the floor and a half-finished twelve-pack on the bartop. Okay, so while I was at the library actually working, my brother was in here, getting shitfaced. And we need to go to the church tonight to scout for the cursed object. Great. 

I grab the shot glass from his hand and snatch the tequila bottle with my other. “Okay, big brother. I’m cutting you off.” He tries to swipe at me and almost falls off his chair. Geez. Tonight is going to be so much fun. 

“No, Dean. Service starts at six and it’s already going to be a challenge to get you sober by then. You’re done.” He actually pouts at me then grabs for the bottle again. 

“Aw, S’mmy gif it back. ‘S not fair. You’re too t-- hic-- tall.” 

Uh oh, hiccups are not a good sign. We need to get going  _ now _ . 

“Where are your keys? Hey, no, no, no, Dean! No! Leave the bottle alone and give me your damn keys!” 

I am quickly running out of patience. Tipsy Dean can be cute, he gets all cuddly with me and tells me stories about Mom and Dad from when he was little. Drunk Dean isn’t even too bad, just a big goofball who passes out after telling the world’s lamest jokes. But Hammered Dean? Oh no. Hammered Dean is a five-year-old who wants his way and fights when he doesn’t get it. He’ll have nightmares tonight and I’ll spend part of tomorrow morning with him in the bathroom listening to him groan in between bouts of projectile vomiting. Oh yeah, Hammered Dean is not pretty and right now? We are  _ way _ past that. 

I pull him off the chair and wrap my arm around his waist to keep him upright. He stumbles and we almost go down. By the time I get him through the gap in the boards and into the backseat, Dean is practically unconscious. Good, it will be much easier to grab what I need if I don’t have to argue with him. While he dozes in the backseat, I run into the small grocery store and gather up Drunk Dean supplies: three bottles of Gatorade (two orange and one purple), a box of saltine crackers, a pack of mint gum, a bottle of Ibuprofen, and a pack of earplugs. At the checkout, I also grab two magazines, a Milky Way, a Snickers bar, and a bottle of strawberry lime-flavored water that I just can’t resist. Hey, I think I deserve it at this point.

When I get back to the car, Dean is still snoring on the backseat dead to the world. He starts to moan about a block away from the church and I check the time. Shit. I barely have half an hour to wake him, sober him up somewhat, clean both of us up, and find seats. I was hoping to have time to mingle before the service, but it looks like any conversing and/or nosing around will have to wait until the complimentary dinner hosted afterward. 

Dean’s breath quickens as I pull the Impala into the furthest corner of the lot and turn it off. He is now yelling in his sleep so I quickly get out and pull open the back door. Leaning over, I grip his arms so he can’t punch me and then straddle him so he can’t kick me either. I double-check that the empty grocery store bag is on the floor within reach. Taking a deep breath, I shake him and call out as loudly as I can, “DEAN!” 

My big brother’s eyes fly open and he jolts upright on the seat. He gasps for air and I loosen my grip on his arms. 

I search his green eyes for signs of recognition, “You with me, Dean?” 

He blinks a few times, nods, then his face pales and he gulps. I reach for the bag and hold it under his chin while he coughs up part of the alcohol. He pushes it away after a few minutes so I tie it and then crawl out to stand on the pavement. He slides his feet to the floor but stays leaned over for a few seconds. I ready another bag from our stash in the trunk, but he waves me off and leans back. 

He groans.

I check my watch again. 

We curse in unison, “Fuck.” 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POV: Dean

I keep my eyes closed and rest my head against the seat, listening to Sam rummage through a plastic bag just outside the door. Something cold is slid into my hand and then two pills held against my palm until I curl my fingers around them. I pop the pills into my mouth and then gulp sugary liquid from the bottle. I bring one hand up to cover my eyes and the other to rest on my stomach. It’s gurgling rather loudly, but I can’t even  _ think _ about moving yet, let alone bending over to be sick. Sam curses softly next to me so I turn my head towards him.

“Okay, Dean. I know you aren’t going to like this, but we have fifteen minutes to get inside and find a seat.” 

The steady thrum of an engine and the barking of a dog assault my ears and I wince. Fuck me, that hurts! I must moan because Sam opens another plastic...  _ something _ ... and drops two squishy cone shapes into my hand. I push the plugs into my ears as gently as I can and sigh with relief as the background noise becomes bearable. 

“Try to finish at least half of that and then eat this.” Sam shoves a candy bar into my hand, but when I squint to try and see what it is, my stomach flips. I shove him out of the way and lean over the pavement. I faintly hear the splatter of the Gatorade I just drank and cringe. Sam hovers a few feet away until I manage to sit up and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. He snatches it before I can brush it against my pants and uses what smells like a baby wipe to clean me up. 

“We need to get inside. Can you make it to the bathroom?” I give a small nod and let him help me out of the backseat. 

By the time we get inside the small church I’ve managed the rest of the Gatorade and about a third of the Snickers bar. Having something in my belly helps, but my head is still killing me and even the dim lights in the hallway make me want to redecorate the carpet. Sam ushers me into the men’s room and then guides me to the sink. He hands me two more pills and turns the faucet on till there’s only a weak stream. I pop the pills in my mouth and then cup my hands under the water. Hopefully,  _ second _ time's the charm in this case. I wash my hands and head towards the main room to grab us some seats in the back because Chuck knows I ain’t sitting in the front. 

I take a seat and check my watch. Even though it’s almost six, there are only about thirty or so people sitting in the pews. The place is barely half full. Shrugging I look around and notice one guy sitting by himself. Huh, that’s weird. All of the other parishioners are in groups near the front, but this guy is sitting solo at the end of a pew near one of the giant stained-glass windows. I watch him for a few minutes, but all he does is finger a rosary and read something in his Bible. I roll my eyes. Jesus freaks, man. Of the group up front, most look middle-aged, but there is a small section of teens sitting on the far right. There are a couple of girls whispering and giggling. One of them turns around and waves. She smiles and bites her lip, I raise an eyebrow and snort. In your dreams, princess. 

I pull my phone out of my pocket and turn the ringtone to silent so that I won’t be given the Holy Glare of Righteousness if my cell happens to go off during the church service. I groan when I see there are a grand total of  _ five _ missed calls and four unread texts from you. Shit. My stomach churns. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, reading through them as Sam sits down next to me. 

_ Dean?  _

_ What’s going on? _

_ I got your message and I’m kind of worried.  _

_ Did Sam find you? Call me back.  _

“Fuck.” I try to mutter under my breath but the bitchface Sammy shoots me suggests I failed. 

“Dean, we’re in a church. Could you at least  _ try _ to behave?” 

I wilt under his glare, “Sorry, just kind of came out...” 

He just rolls his eyes and turns back towards the pulpit where the preacher is now standing. He isn’t very tall. A little on the short side actually. And young. I’d say thirty,  _ tops _ . He’s wearing a three-piece suit with his white collar. It’s kind of unsettling. 

I lean over and whisper to Sam, “ _Dude looks like a Wall Street douchebag playing dress-up. What the hell?_ ” Sam closes his eyes and shakes his head. Ugh, such a Drama Queen. I _ whispered  _ for crying out loud! It’s not like I stood up and shouted it for the whole congregation to hear. 

He huffs out a breath, “Just… shh.” I put my hands up in surrender. Geez, _ touchy _ .

Unfortunately, now that the actual sermon has started, I am bored as fuck. At first, I try to listen since everyone, including my brother, seems enthralled, but after all the shit Sam and I, our family, have been through it just sounds… rehearsed. The young reverend talks about coming together as a congregation and supporting each other through the recent tragedies and I have to cover my snort with a cough. There’s no doubt in my mind that when we speak to the members of the church it will be seventy percent gossip, twenty percent fear-induced babbling, and ten percent information we might actually be able to use. 

I rise when Sam pinches my leg and pretend to sing along to the chosen hymn. 

_ Amazing Grace _

Mama, take this badge from me

I can’t use it anymore

_ How sweet the sound  _

It’s gettin’ dark, too dark to see

_ That saved a wretch like me _

Feels like I’m knockin’ on heaven’s door 

Hey, hey, hey, yay, yeah *drums*

My hands tap my thighs and Sam casts a confused look in my direction. I shrug, it’s not like I can just skip the drum solo. Guns n’ Roses successfully keeps me occupied throughout the song and then the ‘preacher’ asks us to sit back down. He opens the floor for prayer requests and I bite my tongue to keep from saying something inappropriate. Most of it is the usual crap: please heal my husband, be with us as we travel, blah blah blah. But then a woman at the very front stands up with a little girl. The woman bounces a baby in her arms while maintaining a hold on the girl’s hand. I straighten out of my slouch and listen as the girl speaks. 

“I’d like to say a prayer for my mommy and daddy. Aunt Lindsey says that they’re in heaven now and if I pray they might hear me.” The young preacher offers her a soft smile and nods while the ladies in the pews dab their eyes with tissues. Sadness permeates the room, making my skin crawl. Poor kid. Losing her parents like that can’t be easy. 

At least when Mom died, Sammy and I had Dad. He wasn’t always the best, but at least he was there. This kid is going to have to go through life knowing that her parents were killed by something unexplainable. She will never have her dad interrogate potential boyfriends or walk her down the aisle. And I know, from Sam’s experience, that the baby will barely remember his parents. 

Anger washes over me. I push past Sam and stride down the aisle and out the doors. I manage not to slam them, but once I’m outside the rage grows and the urge, the  _ need _ , to hit something takes over. I look around, finding the nearest tree and then ram my fist into it until I feel blood dripping down my knuckles. 

The crunch of gravel alerts me to Sam’s arrival. “You okay?” 

I grit my teeth before looking at him. “I’m fine.” 

I shake my hand and watch the droplets of blood fall to the grass. I hiss at the slight sting and wipe my scraped knuckles on my dress pants. No one can see it on the black material and somehow I feel better knowing that it’s there. Knowing that I’m walking back in as  _ me _ , not some fake ass imitation. 

“Dean--”

“We need to get back inside.”

“Dean, maybe we should-- ” 

“Drop it. We don’t have time for a heart-to-heart. We have work to do.”

I don’t wait for a reply, just turn and walk back to the front steps. Behind me, I hear his heavy sigh, but he follows. 

When we get inside, ‘worship’ is over and everyone is mingling in the atrium while waiting for dinner to begin. According to the schedule Sam printed last night, tonight is Italian night. It will be a buffet-style meal of spaghetti and meatballs, garlic bread, salad, roasted mixed vegetables, and tiramisu for dessert. My stomach growls at the thought of tomato sauce-drenched pasta. Sam may have been happy to hear about the rabbit food, but me? I am all about those carbs. 

Sam gets right to work mingling with the locals, while I hang back and take note of anything shiny hanging from wrists, ears, or necks. There are a lot of rings as well, but most are just simple wedding bands so I focus on the more attention-seeking gaudier stuff. I notice the man from earlier crouching down in front of the little girl. A shiver runs through me, dude gives me the creeps. 

“What ‘ya doin’ Mister?” 

“Jesus!” I grab my chest and glare at the little boy who interrupted my quiet observation. His eyes go wide and his mouth hangs open. 

“You-- you can’t say that!” 

I frown at him and cross my arms. “Excuse me?” 

The kid takes a step back. That’s right you little jerk, back off. Normally, I would humor the kid or even apologize, but tonight I’m not in the mood to play nice. 

“My mom says you’re not s’posed to say that.” 

“M ’hmm. I see.” I lean down so I can look him right in the eyes. “But here’s the thing, I’m a grown-up and I can say whatever I damn well please  _ regardless _ of what your  _ mommy _ thinks is appropriate. Now scram.” 

The sneer on my face and hardness in my eyes must do it, the kid turns tail and stumbles back towards a middle-aged woman in a blue knee-length dress. Sam watches the kid run from me and sends me another bitch face. I turn away. Suddenly, I don’t give a rat’s ass about the case or what my brother thinks of my asinine behavior. All I want is to hear your voice. Curl up next to you and run my hands along your body. Drown in your kisses and hold you close. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Dean was singing was "Knockin' On Heavens Door" by Guns n' Roses 
> 
> Side Note: Do you have any idea how hard it was to find a rock song that would line up with Amazing Grace????   
> *Bangs head against wall*   
> And yes, I tried the original by Bob Dylan, but it didn't work. Had to be the Guns n' Roses cover.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POV: Sam

I watch a small boy flee from my brother and sigh. One night. I asked him to behave for one fucking night! By the time I excuse myself from the group of ladies I was interviewing and make my way over to him, he’s avoiding my eyes and fidgeting with his phone. 

“Really, Dean? Terrorizing children in a church?! What were you thinking?” I try to keep my voice low yet still get my point across. When he looks up, my brow creases with concern. “Dean? What is it?” 

“I'm, uh, I’m gonna head back to the motel. I’ll swing back by around-- nine?-- to pick you up.” His green eyes are dull and he looks tired. I take pity on my big brother and nod. 

“Sure. Yeah.” I risk bodily harm and lay my hand on his shoulder. “You sure you’re okay?” He fakes a smile and my worry deepens.

“Yeah. I’m just tired. Been a long ass day of drinking, sulking, and being a dick.” He smirks and I offer a weak smile at his lame attempt at humor. 

Something is obviously bothering him, but I know better than to ask him what it is. He’ll tell me when he’s ready. He pulls the keys from his pocket and plays with them for a few minutes. I quirk an eyebrow, “Want me to bring you a doggy bag?”

Dean raises his head and chuckles, “Nah, I’m good. Let me know if you find anything.” Satisfied to finally see a genuine smile from my him, I turn and head towards the gymnasium where they set up the tables. There are seven round tables with six chairs placed at each one. I join the line of diners waiting at the buffet and blush when my stomach growls rather loudly. I hear a chuckle behind me and turn around to apologize. 

“Well, at least we know someone is looking forward to all this food.” I smile at the young preacher and turn back to the lady placing more garlic bread in the basket. 

“Is there any chance I could take a plate to go?” I give her my sweetest smile and push my hair behind my ear. 

“Wow! You really are hungry!” The preacher laughs again, I quickly clarify.

“Actually it’s for my brother. He wasn’t feeling well and had to leave.” 

“Right… yeah, the guy sitting with you in the pew. Shame to hear he couldn’t stay.” 

“Definitely.” I reach my hand out and touch the older lady’s hand. “He loves Italian and he was so looking forward to a homemade meal. It really would be a shame if he missed out on all of you ladies’ hard work.” She hesitates. I bring out the puppy dog eyes. 

Her gaze softens immediately, “I suppose I could build a plate and cover it with plastic wrap for him?” 

“Thank you, that would be great. He’s going to be so happy.” 

The lady walks back to the kitchen and I smirk to myself. Dean deserves a little treat for  _ mostly _ behaving himself tonight. I load up my plate with pasta, salad, and roasted veggies. Everything smells delicious and my mouth is already watering. It dawns on me that I haven’t eaten since breakfast so I find a seat and dig in. The pasta is just right and the sauce is flavorful, but not too salty. The garlic bread is buttery and the roasted veggies are perfectly tender. My compliments earlier were mostly flattery, but now I make a point to smile at the kitchen ladies milling about because this is delicious. I will never admit it out loud, but this spaghetti may even rival Dean’s Vegetable Carbonara. He adjusted the popular take with smoked bacon and instead stuck to a more traditional recipe with peppers, mushrooms, and peas. It is my favorite dish and I’ve asked for it on more than one occasion. 

When the ladies clear away the plates I make sure to compliment them on the meal. As soon as dinner had been served, everyone had dug in so there wasn’t much chance to chat with anyone. So while the dessert is being prepared, I use the time to engage my fellow tablemates in conversation. 

“So, how long have you all been members here?” 

The answers vary. One of the couples has been here since the church was founded, the other joined two years ago, and the single man sitting opposite me mumbled something like five. 

“I gotta say, if you guys eat like this all the time, I can see why.” 

They all chuckle except for the quiet man, he frowns. I take note of his reaction then focus on the others. One of the ladies pushes her hair behind her ears and I see the glint of a gold bracelet. It resembles several strands of rope coiled around her wrist. It’s interesting, but it’s also too shiny. A cursed object would most likely be something older, something that has had time to collect a body count. The husbands only wear their wedding rings, and the other guy has nothing. Dammit. Looks like I picked the wrong table. 

“I know this isn’t exactly good dinner conversation, but I was wondering what all the fuss in the papers is about?” They avoid my gaze and shift uncomfortably in their chairs. “It’s just that I like the feel here and I love how small the church is...but, well, the articles kind of freaked me out.” 

One of the wives looks up with a sad expression and I swing my attention to her. “I would rather hear the truth from you all rather than assume the paper was right.” 

The woman hesitates and shares a glance with her husband before speaking. “It’s true that our church has suffered several losses in the last few months.” Her husband holds her hand. “The last two were friends of ours.” She raises a hand to her nose as her eyes tear up. 

“I apologize for bringing it up. You have my deepest condolences.” She smiles at me and shakes her head. 

“No, I, um, I appreciate you asking for the truth. It’s horrible what happened. Two strokes out of nowhere! And now Lacy and Jeremy are living with their Aunt.” I pick up on three keywords and try to steer the conversation towards the parents’ deaths.

“Both of them died from strokes? That’s awful. Did it run in their family or something?” The woman pauses for a moment and then answers. 

“Um, no… I don’t think so…”

“That’s awfully strange. Two strokes with no history of heart problems--” I wait for her to shake her head before continuing, “ within weeks of each other.” 

“I suppose… so, yes.” There is more suspicion in her eyes now so I focus on wrapping things up. Also, the ladies are bringing the tiramisu out and I am actually rather excited for dessert. 

“Did they have any idea what caused it?” She shakes her head. “It happened here in the church, right? Is there something here that--” the quiet man cuts me off. 

“What is your problem?! What’s with the inquisition, huh?” I don a guilty face but keep my focus on the married woman. 

“I’m sorry, truly. I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just… I know how frustrating it can be when you lose a close friend and nobody has the answers you want. Again, I’m so sorry for your loss.” I turn away from her and thank the older lady who sets a bowl in front of me. I remain quiet while we all finish our dessert and try to act invisible while listening to snippets from the other tables. 

...No way! That test was so hard! How did you pass?!... 

...the grandchildren always wanted...

...one cup of flour and two packets of...

...about Thursday for poker night? The meeting is Wednesday night, but what they don’t know won’t hurt ‘em, right?

I search out the last voice’s owner and discover a balding man with a large beard smiling widely and clapping another man on the back. Hmm. Maybe he can give us some more info on the dead husband. I assume the meeting Beard Guy was referring to is the Gambler’s Anonymous counseling session that the victim attended the night he died. Maybe Beard Guy had seen something unusual that night or even heard the victim refer to something strange. It is the only solid lead we have at this point. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POV: Dean

I pull the door closed behind me and walk over to the bed. Sitting down, I remove my shoes, jacket, and dress shirt before settling against the headboard and grabbing my phone. 

**D:** Hey

When there’s no reply right away, I get back up and shuffle into the bathroom. I splash some water on my face and then give in to the temptation for another shower. Sam isn’t here to bitch about me using all the hot water so I take my time and let it soothe my tense muscles. I rest my palms against the tiles and roll my neck and shoulders while warmth cascades down my back.

I hate this. I hate that there are fucking kids involved and religious hypocrites that look at me like I’m the devil. Lucifer would scare them shitless. They worship and pray to a God that  _ they _ don’t know even exists. But Sam and I do. And he’s a dick! And if they met Chuck? They would probably sneer and mock him. They would never believe that their precious savior was a bisexual, crappy-reality-tv-watching, bacon-loving, egotistical deadbeat dad who cares more about his fucking job than his own children! 

I jolt when my fist hits the wall. I hold it under the water and let it ease the ache. It’s hard to deny the similarities between Dad and Chuck, and my emotions tend to get twisted when I think about either of them. To say I have unresolved daddy issues is a vast understatement. Jesus, only a few seconds of thinking about Dad and now I’m all tense again. Fuck. I soap up, rinse off, get out, and then stand frozen in front of the mirror. Well, the calm was nice while it lasted.

Grimacing at my reflection, I don’t get what you see in me. My body is littered with scar tissue and my once toned abs are now more soft than solid. My eyes, which are usually a vibrant green, are dull. The more I look in the mirror, the more I hate what I see. I know the truth. I will never be good enough for you. I was a disappointment to my dad, a disappointment to Lisa, and soon you will wise up and toss me out on my ass just like them. 

I force myself to turn away and grab a towel from the rack to wrap around my waist. I shave and brush my teeth then walk back into the room and dig in my duffel bag for a t-shirt and a clean pair of boxer briefs. It’s only eight o’clock and I’m not supposed to get Sam until dinner ends at nine. I lean my head back, grab my phone off of the nightstand, and hit number two on speed dial. 

“ _ Hey, hon. _ ” As soon as I hear your voice the stress melts away.

“Hey.” 

“ _ You alright? You sound upset. _ ” 

“I’m okay.” I lie down on top of the comforter and shove a pillow under my head. “It’s damn good to hear your voice.” 

You chuckle, “ _ Well, it’s nice to hear your voice too. It gets eerie around here without you and Sam bickering _ .” 

“Is that so?” 

“ _ Yes, it is. It’s strange but I never really notice all the ambient noise until you guys leave and then the absence of it is shocking. I usually put on a film in the background or turn on the radio just so I won’t have to hear my footsteps echo. _ ” 

Guilt weighs heavy in my stomach. I never really thought about what it must be like for you when Sam and I leave. And I’m so used to being alone that the silence never bothered me when it was just me and Sam. Besides, for years we had someone else with us in the bunker, Kevin, Charlie, hell, even Crowley at one point. But you truly are  _ alone _ there…

“ _ Fuck _ , Molly. I’m sorry... I never realized what it must be like for you.” 

“ _ Dean, honey, I didn’t say that to make you feel guilty. I was just rambling. With the music or a movie on it’s really not so bad. I guess I just meant… I miss you when you’re gone. _ ” 

Tears gather in my eyes despite my best effort. I hate myself for being so weak around you. “I-- I miss you too.” 

Dammit. The stutter gives me away and your voice immediately fills with concern. 

“ _ Hey, talk to me. What’s wrong? _ ” 

I push a hand through my hair and huff out a breath.”I don’t even know…” My fist hits the mattress as the frustration builds.  “That’s the fucking problem! Something about this case, this town, fuck! All I know is that since we got here I’m all--” I gesture with my hand while searching for the word, “--emotional and shit… ” You don’t respond, so I continue.

“At first I thought it was the orphaned kids, you know? Reminding me of Mom, but even when I got drunk I couldn’t shake it. Then we go to the fucking church again tonight and I get hit with these feelings of regret about my Dad and anger at the _real_ Capital G-O-D, God.” 

I pause and take a deep breath.

“I was so mad, Mol. I just… wanted to smash their smiling faces into the wall and tell them it’s all a lie. Everything they believe in, unity, faith, the power of addiction therapy, even the death of their ‘friends’ is a lie! The only honest person in that godforsaken church was that little girl who lost her parents and is still too innocent to understand all the shit hidden behind closed doors.” This time when I stop to breathe, I roll over onto my back and rest my free hand on my chest. 

“I was standing there in a crowd of fucking liars and sinners in a _ church _ ! And all I could think about was... you.” The anger fades as quickly as it came on and I feel exhausted. 

“ _ Me? _ ” 

“Yeah, Molly, you- I wanted nothing more than to drive like a bat out of hell to get back to you. I wanted so badly to hold you in my arms and kiss you. But I’m on a job and people are dying… so I can’t.” 

I know you can hear the pain in my voice but at this point? I couldn’t fucking care less. You’re the one person I can be myself around. No matter how fucked up I am or how shitty I’m feeling, you’re there. You listen and hold me when I can’t take it anymore and finally give in. Sure, I hate myself the next morning, but while it’s happening all I feel is…  _ relief _ . Relief that I don’t have to carry all the weight alone. That someone else can take over when I inevitably fall apart. 

“ _ Aw, baby. I miss you too. So much. I would give anything to be in your arms and hold you close. All you have to do is ask, Dean. I’m your girlfr-- _ ” My heart races and I cut you off. 

“I’m okay… really. I just-- this job is fucking with my head and I’m tired. And kind of hungover...  _ slightly _ . I’ll be fine in the morning.” 

You sigh and I clench my jaw against another wave of guilt. I shouldn’t lie to you. You wouldn’t judge me. I know you wouldn’t, but that word…  _ girlfriend _ … it sends me into a panic. Which is fucking ridiculous seeing as how we’ve been together for over a year! Then again, I was with Lisa for a year and look how that turned out. I can’t allow myself to get comfortable, to be vulnerable, to  _ fall in love _ . Because every time I do, Capital G-O-D, _ Chuck _ , sends some new ugly to threaten humanity and expects the poor, deprived, pathetic, damned Winchesters to save the world… yet again. 

“ _ Dean, I kn-- _ ” This time, you get cut off by call waiting. I look down and see Sam’s name flashing on the screen. The clock on the table reads 9:43.

“ _ Shit _ ! Molly, babe, I gotta go. I was supposed to pick Sam up from the church almost half an hour ago.” I pull on my jeans, leaving the fly undone, then jam my feet into my boots and cradle the phone between my ear and shoulder as I grab my keys, toss on my jacket, and lock the door. 

“ _ Okay... You guys be careful? And let me know if there’s  _ anything _ you need _ .” 

“Yeah, course.” I’m only half-listening as I rush out. I don’t even have time to appreciate how clean Baby still is despite all of the falling leaves. I squeal out of the parking lot and head towards the church, definitely going over the posted speed limit.

“ _ I love you, Dean. You can call whenever _ .” 

“Love you too. Bye babe.” Stopped at a red light, I thump my head against the steering wheel. Dick move, Winchester. You wonder why everyone leaves you? Maybe it’s because you push them all away! Despite the slight hangover, I suddenly feel like I could use a drink… or five. 

As I pull into the lot, I see Sam sitting on the steps. Shit. He looks like a sad kid waiting on a late parent to pick them up after school. I pull up to the curb and offer him a guilty smile as he slides in. I am expecting anger or a little frustration, but he’s looking at me with concern. 

“You okay?” he asks. 

The confusion must show on my face because he looks away and then adds, “You just seem kind of… out of it. Is everything okay?”  _ Great _ . Another person trying to be my damn therapist… 

I roll my eyes and sigh. “I’m fine, Sam. Good to go.” 

We pull away from the curb and I edge Baby into the line of cars waiting to leave the lot. Some grandpa in a Buick honks his horn and I lean my arm out the window to flip him off. “You get anything?” 

Sam gives a rather dramatic sigh at the obscene gesture, then smirks. “Not much. The conversation was okay, may have gotten a lead. Oh! And the kitchen ladies made you up a plate.” I glance briefly at the styrofoam plate covered with plastic wrap that sits on the floorboards between Sam’s feet. 

“You got a lead?” 

“Yeah, not really strong, but it’s somewhere to start I guess. Witness to the husband’s death during the Gambling Addicts Anonymous meeting.” 

“Fellow gambler?” 

“Sounds like. I overheard a little bit of his conversation from where I was sitting. Doesn’t really seem like the church-going type though.” 

I keep quiet. Faith and religion are where Sam and I differ in opinion. He is much more open to the whole idea of Chuck and his grand plan than I am. I’m way too damn skeptical according to Sam. See, he believes that all the times we’ve saved the world will redeem us for the utter shit we caused. I don’t think there is anything we could do that will save us in the end. We’ve done too much. Sam released Lucifer, I tortured souls in Hell, not to mention the whole accidentally opening a door to purgatory and letting the Leviathans out. Some nights I allow myself to hope. That maybe one day I will walk through the pearly gates, well, down the sterile hallways, of heaven one day, but deep down I know the truth... my brother and I are going to burn.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POV: Sam

I frown at the pensive, faraway look in Dean’s eyes. We’ve been sitting in the motel parking lot for over fifteen minutes and he has yet to turn the car off. I always worry when he gets like this. Lately, he has been a little muted, but right now he seems downright gloomy. The erratic behavior, excessive drinking, and the unpredictable anger all point to depression. Which would be fine if he wasn’t a Winchester. I would just take him to the clinic, get him checked out, pick up a prescription, and then monitor him. But no, he’s a Winchester, which means things are going to get tricky. Because melancholy and withdrawn behavior doesn’t just indicate we’re having a bad day or a hard time. Oh, no. When a Winchester sinks down, shit gets bad…  _ fast _ . There are Hell nightmares, memories of all of our failures, unhealthy abuse of hunting as a coping mechanism, threats, violence… the list goes on. 

Dean will pull away. It’s what he does. My brother will turn to alcohol and violence. His coping mechanisms used to include plentiful sex, but I’m not sure if you will go for that. So far, I’m pretty sure you haven’t witnessed an actual full-blown Winchester meltdown. While Dean stares off into the distance, I’m busy debating with myself whether or not to warn you. Maybe I don’t need to worry? Maybe by the time we finish this case, the worst will have passed. Then again, when do things ever go in our favor? 

I sigh and push the door open so I can stretch my long legs. The church pews and table chairs were not made for tall people. I walk around and tap on the driver’s side window. 

“Dean? You going to get out anytime soon?” 

He remains frozen with his hands clenching the wheel so hard his injured knuckles are white. Concern grows until my chest physically aches for him. I open the door and then lean in and turn the keys. The Impala goes silent, but Dean still doesn’t move. 

“Come on, big brother, let’s get you into bed.” I slide one hand across his back and swing his legs out with the other. He leans into me after I haul him up and then I support him until we get into the room. Once the door is shut and the chain slid into place, he trudges over to the rumpled bed nearest the bathroom. He sits heavily, then lies down and curls up, facing the wall. I pull off his unlaced boots and slide one of the pillows under his head. The pillow is slightly damp and I wonder if it’s from wet hair or silent tears. While I waited for Dean on the steps, I dreamt of a warm shower and a little light reading before bed, but now I simply strip and crawl under the covers of the other bed. 

* * * 

The sound of choking wakes me. I roll over and glance at the clock: 4:30. Well, at least we got a  _ few _ hours. I look over to Dean’s bed.  _ Fuck! _ I scramble out of bed and lunge for him. My heart pounds in my chest as I fight to remove my brother’s hands from around his throat. I end up straddling him on the bed and pinning his arms. The nightmare still rages in his mind while I try to wake him. Both of us panting frantically. Him from fear-induced panic, me from worry and exertion. 

“DEAN!” I try to shake him, but his flailing limbs force me to pin them back down. Dammit. This is a bad one. He’s bucking off the bed, trying to dislodge me. He moans low in his throat and I pray to Chuck he isn’t about to throw up. I won’t let go, regardless, but I prefer not to be covered in vomit. “ _ Dean _ ! It’s not real!” My eyes dart all over the room searching for something I can use to help him, but there’s nothing.

Then he starts yelling.  _ Shit! _ If I can’t get him calmed down, we’re going to get kicked out and this is the only fricken motel in this podunk town! 

“You’re not in Hell, Dean! You’re here with me. _ You’re okay. You’re safe _ .” He gasps and sits up, knocking me flat on my ass on the floor. His eyes are wild and I hesitate, trying to figure out if he’s totally out of the dream yet. 

“S-  _ ulp _ \- Sam?” His chest rises and falls rapidly while he fights to catch his breath and I can see his hands shaking even in the dark. His breath hitches and I quickly scoot backward to avoid the splash of watery vomit. With one hand over his mouth, he flings the covers off and jogs to the bathroom. I take a moment to lean my head back against the bed, pull my knees toward my chest, and push my hands through my sleep-messy hair. Just breathe, I tell myself.  _ He’s fine… Dean’s fine _ . 

“...Sammy?” Dean’s voice is wrecked from puking, but I can hear him just fine from my spot on the floor. 

“Yeah?” I don’t expect an answer. He’s reassuring himself that I’m _real_ , that I didn’t die, that he isn’t in Hell. I do the same thing after Lucifer nightmares. 

I close my eyes and can picture him in the bathroom. Sitting against the wall, much like I am, or sitting with his head lying on the toilet seat. 

When Dean first got back from Hell, I used to hover during nights like this. I would ask him if he needed anything, maintain touch, offer him water, and help him back to bed. But after the whole Lucifer shitshow, I realized that he may want a little space. I know I do. It’s enough to hear his voice without having him right next to me. 

The flashbacks make us feel vulnerable and weak. They remind us of our biggest failures in life. Which for Dean and me, means reliving every bad decision or time we chose someone else over each other. So, seeing me when he’s remembering all the times he ‘failed’ me just makes the pain a hundred times worse. 

I hear a flush, then Dean turning on the faucet, filling up the little plastic cup, swishing the water around in his mouth, and finally spitting it back into the sink. There’s a loud metallic sound as he pulls the towel off the flimsy rack, then footsteps as he walks back between the beds and lays it down on the small damp patch. The bed creaks when he sits down across from me. 

“You okay?” I don’t open my eyes while speaking. It’s still dark in the room so there’s no point. 

“Yeah.” He yawns and without even seeing him, I know he’s dragging a hand down his face. 

“Sleep?” I roll over onto my knees and ease up until I’m sitting directly opposite him. 

“Yeah… do we have any… ” I wait for him to finish, but he just trails off. 

“Sleep aid?” I supply. 

“Yeah.” 

C ‘mon, man! It is way too damn early to be pulling teeth! “Do you  _ want one _ ?” 

“... yeah.” He practically whispers the answer. I get up and walk over to my duffel. It takes a few tries since I’m still half-asleep, but eventually, I pull out the little blister pack and pop one out. Then I retrieve a cup of water and hold both out to Dean. Once he takes them, we lie back down and go back to sleep. 

* * *

This time when I wake, it is because of someone knocking on our door. Dean is dead to the world thanks to the medicine, but I immediately shift into hunter mode. I grab my gun and silently ease up to the door. I keep to the side and press the barrel of my gun against the door. “It’s too early for housekeeping. Who is it?” 

“Oh, crap. I forgot to do the secret knock, didn’t I?  _ Shit. _ ” 

I freeze at the sound of a familiar female voice and slowly lower the gun.

The voice speaks again, “Sam? If I do the knock now, does that count? I really need to pee.” 

I slide the chain and open the door to confirm my suspicion. 

“Molly?” 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POV: Molly

“Molly?” 

“Yeah, hi… I can explain in a minute and I will let you do any test you want, but can I  _ please _ use the bathroom first? I kind of drove all day to get here and I’m about to  _ burst _ …” Sam opens his mouth to speak, then closes it and nods.

“Thank you!” I push past him and see a brief glimpse of you still asleep on one of the beds as I hurry into the small bathroom. There’s a faint odor in the tiny room, but that doesn’t worry me as much as the fact that you remained asleep even as Sam and I talked through the door. You are a light sleeper. I assume that comes from a lifetime of hunting, but I’ve never actually asked. You usually wake up if I tiptoe to the bathroom in the middle of the night or if I get up early to work on my article, you pull the pillow over your head to block out the light from my laptop. Sam once told me that you never used to sleep, only nap for a few hours here and there when absolutely necessary. 

With my bladder finally empty, I wash my hands and then dry them on my jeans when I see there is no towel hanging on the rack. When I walk back into the room, Sam has put on a pair of jeans and is sitting at the small table drawing something on a piece of paper. I stop by your bed to caress your cheek and kiss your forehead before joining Sam. Oh, it’s not paper he has, it’s... pictures. Hmm. It looks like he’s playing one of those spot-the-difference games I used to love as a kid. I lean over for a better look but sit back when Sam raises his head and crosses his arms. He arches an eyebrow and I bite my lip. Right. Here goes nothing. 

“He called me last night.” Sam untucks one arm and gestures for me to continue. 

“Look, I know that I’m not supposed to be on a case without proper training, but  _ Sam, _ the way he was talking last night? I was worried,  _ okay _ ? So I sat there at the kitchen table going back and forth about what to do. I mean, drive here? By myself? Without calling first? Crazy!” 

My hands fly wildly in the air as I ramble, “But then...I don’t know. I just  _ knew _ that I needed to come. I can’t explain how or why. I just felt in my gut that I needed to jump in the car and drive here.” As I confess, I jump up from the table and start to pace. 

“I know that it was stupid and I should have called. I should have called! I mean, I had the phone right there with me, but... it was like one second I was in the garage doing that GPS thing you taught me and then the next I was pulling up next to the Impala!” I must look frantic because Sam walks over to me and pulls me into his arms. He rests his chin on my head and hugs me. 

“I’m glad you’re here.” 

“Wait. Really? You are?” Color me shocked. 

“Of course, Molly. And I know that Dean will be thrilled when he wakes up. Well, not at first. At first, he will be pissed you left,  _ alone _ , without telling us and came out here where there’s an active hunt  _ without _ proper hunter training, but once he cools down, I think you being here might help.” 

Sam releases me from the hug, then holds me at arm’s length so he can see my face. “Now, I don’t know about you, but I could use a little more sleep.” 

At the mention of sleep, I yawn and he chuckles. I shrug and nod. He helps me out of my jacket, then closes the computer, and crawls back into bed. I slip my shoes off, shimmy out of my jeans, and then snuggle up next to you. You’re currently clutching a pillow in your arms, so I can’t have my favorite spot, but just being close to you… I feel infinitely better than yesterday. The ball of dread in the pit of my stomach loosens and I close my eyes. 

* * *

“SHE DID  _ WHAT _ ?!” 

My eyes blink open to see you gesticulating wildly at your brother. Sam is leaning against the counter and stirring what, from the aroma wafting towards my nose, must be coffee. I yawn and roll over fully so I can watch the show until you discover I’m awake. Sam makes eye contact with me when you turn your back and I blush. Oops. Guess I’ve been found out. 

“What the hell was she thinking?! She could’ve gotten hurt! Or kidnapped! Or--or lost! Chuck knows that Molly is  _ no good _ with directions...” Hurt, I understand. Kidnapped is a bit far-fetched. But l _ ost _ ? That’s too far! 

“I can read a map just fine, thank you very much.” 

You spin around and glare at me before walking slowly towards the bed. Sam slinks behind you, grabs his jacket, and escapes out the door.  _ Well… shit.  _

I swallow, the fierce look in your eyes turning me on almost as much as it scares me. 

“ _ What _ … were you  _ thinking _ .” 

I sit up and let the covers pool in my lap. I look down and pick at one of my nails. 

“I was  _ thinking _ that my boyfriend needed me.” 

You snort, your eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. You shake your head and start to turn away. 

“Dean, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.” I watch your shoulders tense and curse my word choice. Dammit. 

“ _ Sorry _ ? You’re  _ sorry _ ? Oh, no, Molly. 'Sorry' isn’t going to cut it. You did  _ everything _ I asked you not to.” 

Oh, no you didn’t! 

“ _ Excuse me _ ? I am a grown-ass woman and I can do as I damn well please, Dean Winchester! Just because you tell me not to do something, it doesn’t mean I’m going to listen!” 

I stand, facing off against one of the most dangerous men in the world, but instead of a rebuttal, your face falls and sadness fills those green eyes. I freeze. 

“...  _ ask _ .” 

“... What?” I’m coming down from my hissy fit and now I feel horrible. 

“I _ asked _ you not to come out here without letting Sam or I train you.” My shoulders slump and I open my mouth, but you cut me off. “I  _ asked _ you to let one of us know if you leave the bunker while we’re gone.” I reach my hand out, but you step back. 

“I don’t  _ tell _ you what to do, Molly. I ask you to…” You look up from the floor and I see tears glistening in your eyes. “The only thing I expect from you... is for you to trust me.” You take another step back. A tear slips down my cheek. 

“ And that’s only because I thought I had proven myself to you. That I know what I’m talking about, that I want to keep you safe, that I worry about you… ” You walk over to the door and open it. “... that I love you.” 

Then you're gone and I’m alone in a crappy motel room, my heart breaking. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POV: Dean

Staring at the bartop, my mind keeps going over the conversation I had with you. I guess the truth is out now. You don’t trust me. Not really. No surprise there, though. Who the hell in their right mind would trust me after the things I’ve done. I’ve killed people, mostly bad, but there were some innocents while I was a demon. I sold  _ my sou _ l.  _ I _ started the apocalypse. I tortured. I’ve sacrificed my friends and family, I’ve lied, stolen, desecrated, destroyed, maimed! 

I went against my brother’s wishes over and over. I just kept choosing myself over him, what he wanted. He was ready to die, but I convinced him to stay. I say I’m doing it for Sammy, but really I do it because there is no one else in this world that can love me. No one but my likewise fucked up brother. We’re two peas in one very damaged pod. 

I let myself believe for a second that maybe I could add you to our little family, but who am I kidding? You don’t belong with us. Your parents were right, I’m a dead-beat, good-for-nothing slacker that will only bring you pain and suffering. Who cares if I can save the world? I know now that I will only destroy yours. 

I hiss at the burn of tequila in my throat and pour another. I’m so damn tired of disappointing people. 

“Geez, here again? What is it with you and this place?” I ignore Sam and throw back another shot. 

“Dean? Hello?” He waves a hand in front of my face. When I still fail to respond, Sam pulls a stool down from the bartop, grabs a shot glass, and pours himself a shot of tequila. “Wanna tell me what happened?” He throws it back and grimaces, “Ugh. How do you drink this stuff?” He picks up the bottle, glances at the label, and quickly puts it back.

“No.”

“Okay. Well, here’s what I know--” Sam places his elbows on the counter and turns to face me, “--when I came back to the room, I found Molly sobbing on the floor and you, gone.” 

He pours another shot before continuing, “From what I could decipher, she was saying that she was an idiot and that she fucked everything up.” 

_ You _ ? It’s not  _ your fault _ I’m a complete screw-up. I break everything I touch, Sam should know that by now. You know what? Fuck this. I grab the bottle and take a swig. Sam reaches for it but I move it just out of his reach.  _ Mine _ . 

“C’mon, Dean. I can’t help you two out if you don’t tell me what the hell happened! I left the room for five fucking minutes and when I come back you both look like someone killed your puppy. I  _ know _ something big went down, but if you won’t tell me, I can’t help.” 

“ _Then_ _don’t._ ” 

“You know what, Dean? I would  _ love _ to retire from my role as couples counselor, but you won’t pull your head out of your ass, so I  _ can’t _ ! I’m stuck listening to her cry and watching you try to drown yourself in cheap tequila! Oh, and in case you forgot? We still have a fucking case to figure out!” 

His outburst throws me and I raise my brow, “Are  _ you _ okay?” 

Because I refuse to look in his direction, I don’t even see the punch coming. It knocks me off of my seat and onto the floor. Adrenaline flows through my veins and I jump back up, hunch forward, and ram Sam in the stomach. We tumble onto the ground and fight for dominance. I grab him, he flips me. He kicks me, I punch him. Spit and curses are flying, blood and sweat cover our skin. We keep going, wrestling until the bartop is dripping alcohol and both of the stools are broken. We lie there on the floor next to each other, chests heaving, legs sprawled, coming down from the rush. 

Sam speaks first, “It’s not just today, man. I mean the whole thing with Molly is a bit concerning, but you guys are going to fight. It happens. You’re communicating--” I can’t help but snort.

“It’s  _ loud _ communication, but you’re still trying to figure things out, which is good.” I suppose Sam is right, although I’m loathed to admit it. 

“But more than that, I’m worried about you, Dean. You’ve been off since we got to town. At first, I thought maybe whatever was getting people came after you, but now I’m not so sure. You’re spiraling, man. You’re drinking more than you have in a long time, you’re angry and taking it out on me and now Molly. You’re having nightmares again  _ and _ you aren’t even focusing on the case which is probably the hardest for me to believe.” 

_ Shit. _ Sammy’s right. I haven’t even thought about the case at all today. The whole reason we’re in this fucking mess and I totally forgot about it! I've been in a fog for days. I need to get my fucking head in the game before I get someone killed. 

We limp back to the room side by side, sporting matching cuts and bruises. Sam has a nasty black eye and my lip is split open, my tongue darting out every few seconds to lick the blood off. 

The room is dark when we enter but the shower is running behind the closed bathroom door. Sam nods at me and gives my shoulder a light squeeze then heads for his bed after grabbing the medkit. I hesitate at the door and take a deep breath then turn the knob and walk in. I’m not surprised to hear sniffling behind the shower curtain and sit on the closed toilet lid. I hate upsetting you. 

A few months after we started ‘dating’, we’d gone back to your place and things had gone a little… off-track. We’d been fooling around on your bed when all of a sudden, you’d pushed away and told me you needed to take a shower. I’d been a little confused (and a lot horny), asked if you wanted me to leave but you said no, you just needed a quick shower. You’d left me sitting awkwardly on your bed, alone in the dim light of your room. If I wasn’t trained to catch the snap of twigs on a silent night, I probably wouldn’t have caught it. But as it was, I could pick out the sound of you crying underneath the roar of the water. Of course, when you came back out with wet hair and a clean set of pajamas on, there was no evidence so I couldn’t say anything. By now, I’ve grown accustomed to your unusual coping technique. 

“Mol?” You sniffle loudly but don’t say anything. I sigh heavily and run a hand down my face. I’m getting tired of all this emotional shit. I’ve shown more in the last few days than I usually do in a whole fucking year. Looks like I’m going to have to be the bigger man…  _ again _ .  _ What’s new _ . “Molly, babe, I-- I shouldn’t have yelled at you and… I’m…” I can’t get the word out though. Because I’m not sorry. I shouldn’t be apologizing right now, I didn’t  _ do _ anything wrong. Suddenly, I feel frustrated and fed up. Forget it. You can pout and stew. See if I care. I have a damn job to do. 

***

I hear Sam sigh as soon as I walk out and head straight for the small fridge. I know he’s dying to ask what happened, but he wisely keeps quiet while I stalk over to my bed and sit, pop the cap off with my ring. He opens his mouth to speak but I give him a hard look and he averts his eyes before handing me a pile of pictures. Sam’s bed is covered in black and white images of the church and its congregation. He seems to have them laid out according to date and sub-categorized by event. Nerd. He informs me that so far he hasn’t found anything and then asks if I’ll take a look. Sam runs his hand through his hair, a sign that he’s growing aggravated by the lack of progress he’s making. 

“Each of the events takes place in a different part of the church, but both the couple and the first victim were members of groups that met in the basement. The pile I handed you are the photos from the ones downstairs.” 

The bottle hangs loosely from my fingers as I flip through the print outs. “Any with our victims?” 

“Yeah, the one on the bottom is a picture of the Mommy and Me group that Laura was in. Her husband, Michael, isn’t in any. Our Bingo winner is at the top left of that page and the first victim, Martin Summers, is standing next to the reverend in this one.” Sam hands me another copy and I squint at the grainy image of two men standing in front of an old picture. 

“Awesome. Where’s Baldie?” He points to a middle-aged guy in a nice suit with a hefty beer gut. “He’s the one we’re meeting with today?” I take a sip of my beer and wait for Sam’s answer. 

He smiles sheepishly. “Sort of.” 

I tilt my head and narrow my eyes, “ _ Sammy _ …” 

He looks away, “They meet tonight at seven. If you swing by, you can feel him out and see if there’s anything amiss.” Amiss? Seriously? 

I glare at him. “ _ Me? _ Why do _ I _ have to go?” 

“ _Because_ you blend in better than I do. Plus, the guy already saw me last night, he might get skittish if I show up.” 

Dammit. I hate it when he has a valid point. I cross my arms and huff, “ _ Fine. _ I’ll go.” You walk out of the bathroom and suddenly, the room feels suffocating. I rise from the bed and grab my jacket off the chair, “Any idea what I’m looking for?” 

Sam shakes his head, “No. None of these pictures show anything that looks old enough to be cursed. The jewelry is all new and even the church decor looks like it’s been updated recently.” 

I sigh and push the door open, “Awesome.” I don’t really plan on going anywhere, I just need a little space from you and Sam. I decide to spend the afternoon with Baby. She never complains about listening to The Best of Led Zeppelin, no matter how many times we’ve heard it. 

***

I pull into the church parking lot around 6:50. There are a few other cars, but it doesn’t seem like enough for an entire group. My footsteps echo as I walk across the lot and up the steps. The heavy doors creak open and I wonder why the place seems so much creepier now than it last night. 

It’s quiet inside, no voices, no music, no shuffling of papers.  _ Nothing.  _ I close my eyes and lick my lips, remind myself that I’m not in a coffin buried six feet under. After a deep breath, I walk over to the front table and glance at the pamphlets sitting there. Mostly the regular crap. A small selection of  _ Here’s A Name For How Screwed Up You Are And How We Can Help _ and a bright blue one advertising a smiley family with one word across the top:  _ Forgiveness. _ I roll my eyes. Mrs. Happy’s husband is probably cheating on her while Little Susie Happy cuts herself and Little Bobby cries himself to sleep. Forgiveness is a load of shit. No one ever means it when they say they’re sorry. Just two more fucking words that are overused and ignored. I quickly scan over the pastel-colored Mommy and Me pamphlet and snag the one for G.A. 

I check my watch again and decide to head down to the meeting a little early. It’ll give me time to scope out the area and check out the coffee situation. At the bottom of the stairs, there’s a  _ Gambler’s Anonymous _ sign with an arrow pointing to the left. Anonymous, huh? It would probably help if you didn’t tell everyone where they were meeting... 

The room is longer than it is wide with pillars running every six feet. It’s an odd layout. One side of the room is filled with stacked chairs and folded tables, that’s where the circle of twelve chairs and a small refreshments table is set up. The room is so long that from where I’m standing, I can’t actually see the other end. It just kind of fades into pitch black. Fantastic. At some point, Sam and I will probably end up there. 

Other than the small meeting area, it’s pretty empty. The walls are covered in that weird gray fabric that seems to be in every church rec room across the U.S. The only light comes from those long panel lights that are popular in office buildings and the floor is covered in dingy brown carpeting. The weirdest part is that even though I know I saw cars in the parking lot, there’s no one else here. Oh yeah, I’m not creeped out at all. Thanks a bunch, Sammy. 

I walk over to the circle of chairs and lay my jacket on the back of one then grab a  _ teacup _ of coffee and peer into the darkness. I glance around and then grab my flashlight and click it on. Something about two-hundred feet down on the left reflects the light but before I can check it out, I hear footsteps coming down the stairs. 

The meeting is pretty basic. Everyone introduces themselves and then shares a small tidbit about why they’re here. Since the only real gambling experience I have is poker scams and hustling, I make up some shit about using up all of my brother’s money and my fiance leaving me. They seem to buy it and I spend the rest of the time observing my fellow addicts. They’re all men and most of them are wearing fancy suits. I’m a little out of place in my jeans and flannel. The phrase  _ Everything that glitters is gold _ definitely rings true for this bunch. I’ve never seen so many Rolexes and championship rings in one place. Gold-plated cufflinks, Italian leather shoes, smarmy gel-slicked haircuts, and Baldie is totally sporting manicured nails. There’s a guy with a smooth red shirt under his jacket and I’d bet my Metallica tape it’s real silk. 

I tune back in to the conversation for the last ten minutes but it’s just more whining and I barely resist the urge to roll my eyes. They think they’ve hit rock bottom? Ha! I’d like to see them living off of peanut butter sandwiches for two weeks in a crappy motel room with a broken heater and a sick little brother. Then they can complain to me about being worse off. It seems like most of the men in attendance are just going through the motions, sipping their coffee-filled teacups and nodding when appropriate. The proctor even seems bored, not really paying attention. To be honest, it’s rather depressing and I’m relieved when the meeting finally dismisses. 

As I gather up my stuff, I take one last look at the shadowed part of the room and decide that Sam and I should take a closer look later tonight. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POV: Sam

Molly takes a bite of her chicken strip and swirls her spoon in the mashed potatoes. She hasn’t said a word since coming back into the room. Even after Dean left for the Gambler’s Anonymous meeting. I’d finally coaxed her into getting dinner and now we’re sitting in a diner in awkward silence. It makes my skin crawl a little because I’m used to my brother and Dean? Dean is never quiet. He’s always making some sort of noise, whether it’s talking, humming under his breath, chewing loudly, etc. But she’s just sitting there, barely making a sound as she nibbles at her food and sips her glass of iced tea. Just watching her drink it is making me shiver, it’s like twenty degrees outside right now. 

“Molly--” 

“It’s okay, Sam. I’m okay.” She looks up but her eyes are missing that spark of life and joy that drew my brother to her in the first place. I massage my temple, feeling a headache building. Jesus! Will they just  _ talk  _ to each other already! They’re driving me nuts! 

She smiles sadly and twirls the straw in her glass, “Besides, it’s my fault. I deserved it.” 

I frown, “Deserved what? What is going on with you two?” 

Molly wraps her arms around herself and stares into the distance. When she finally speaks her voice is so soft I can barely hear it.  _ “He thinks I don’t trust him… _ ” 

“Why on earth would Dean think you don’t trust him?” A tear runs down her face and she distractedly wipes at it. 

“Because it came out all wrong and that’s what he heard…” She sniffles and then blinks, turns toward me, “Sam… the look on his face… You know, I can handle the anger and frustration, but that? The kicked puppy… sad little boy…  _ hurt _ in his eyes? That kills me.” 

I’d tensed up while she talked, but now I soften my gaze and reach out to place my hand on hers, “Molly, he’ll forgive you, okay? He just needs a little time.” I pull back and frown at the speckled tabletop, “Something about this case… I don’t know. But something is getting to him and he’s working through it like he always does. Lots of liquor and emotional outbursts.” 

I smile at her, “It’s kind of his thing.” 

She chuckles just as the door opens and Dean walks in. We share a quick nod and then he comes over and slides in next to Molly. She’s shocked, but I don’t think he even notices, his focus is on me.  _ Crap _ . 

“Please tell me we’re not digging up a grave tonight…” I’m prepared to turn on the puppy dog eyes if I need to, I refuse to tramp around in a frozen cemetery after the long day I’ve had playing referee between him and Molly. 

He steals a few fries from her basket and gestures at me, “Not yet.” He shoves them in his mouth and takes a big drink of her tea, grimaces and then lays his arm on the back of their booth. Molly hasn’t moved a muscle since he sat down. “But, uh, how do you feel about a little B-and-E?” 

“ _ Really? _ ” He nods and I scowl, “Dean. The whole point of you going tonight was to avoid… that.” I try to keep our conversation vague so the nosy townspeople sitting at the counter don’t overhear our plan and alert the cops. 

He leans forward so he can speak more plainly, “You were right, Sam. There’s definitely something off down there. Dude. One whole side of the basement is pitch black! I couldn’t even see the end of the damn room!” 

A couple of the patrons turn towards our table and I glare at my loud-mouthed big brother. Molly slides closer to him and places her hand on his thigh. He still doesn’t look at her and she doesn’t say anything. The waitress approaches, probably to tell us to keep it down. Dean nods to her and flashes his nice-boy smile, “They’re still good, but could I get a cup of coffee? Black.” She flounders for a moment then nods and walks away. Molly’s face falls and again, Dean doesn’t even notice. 

“Dean--” 

“Something reflected the flashlight… light… about halfway down though, so we need to check it out. Chances are that’s their main storage and if it’s a cursed object that we’re looking for, then that’s where it’ll be.” He snags another handful of fries and glances longingly at my hamburger. I sigh, then push the plate towards him. He smirks and squirts a hefty amount of ketchup then bites into the burger and moans. Molly blushes beside him while I just roll my eyes. 

“Security?” 

He shrugs and takes another bite… answers with his mouth full, “The only thing I saw was a weak padlock on the door. Bolt cutters should work just fine.” 

I grimace and look away, swallowing hard, “Ugh, Dean. Could you not, please?” 

“What?” He looks genuinely confused. I sigh. 

“Chew with your mouth  _ closed _ .” 

He rolls his eyes and then takes a drink from the coffee cup the waitress just placed in front of him, “Mmmm, so much better than the swill they served at the meeting.” Finished with my burger, Dean leans back in the booth and strokes Molly’s hair. She leans into him and closes her eyes. I wonder if this means they’ve made up. 

“Stuff was awful. Oh! And the best part? They served it in fucking teacups!  _ Teacups! _ Felt like I was at a fucking tea party…” 

“Dean, lots of churches use what they have instead of buying new stuff for each event. The costs add up over time and reusing the church’s supplies saves money.” 

“Whatever. Bunch of dudes sitting in a circle, talking about their  _ feelings _ , sipping out of teacups… it’s just wrong.” 

We discuss the basics of the case and go over the break-in then decide to drop Molly off at the motel before we head over. She would probably be miffed if she wasn’t asleep in Dean’s arms. He actually opted to sit in the back with her rather than drive. It’s definitely an apology. My big brother has never been good at the whole verbal apology thing, but he shows it in other ways. He lets his actions say what he can’t. In my whole life, I can count on two hands the number of times Dean has ever actually said ‘I’m sorry’ to me and I’m around him twenty-four-seven. 

***

“Okay, I take it back. You were right, this place is way creepier at night…” 

Dean turns around with an  _ I Told You So _ expression on his face and climbs the steps up to the door. I stand guard while he snips the lock then we slide inside. It’s darker than I imagined and I bump into Dean when he stops suddenly. 

“ _ Dude…!”  _ I whisper-yell. 

His forehead creases as he listens intently. After a few moments, he shakes his head and continues toward the stairs. I follow as he leads the way down the darkened corridor and into the banquet room. Even though it’s dark down here, I can immediately see what Dean was talking about. It looks like the right side of the room has been shaded heavier than the rest of the space. Of course, we head straight for it. 

We split up, Dean taking the left side searching for the thing he saw earlier while I investigate the piles of junk on the right. He certainly wasn’t kidding about this being the most likely spot for the cursed object. There are clear tubs holding decorations, extra linens, and supplies, an old pew in need of repair… even an animal cage. That one throws me. 

“Dammit.” 

I turn around and search out Dean with my flashlight. He’s standing in front of an old oak China hutch. I stand beside him and run the flashlight beam over it. It’s made out of dark oak wood and there’s intricate floral scrolling across the top. The supports at the bottom are twisted beautifully and the knobbed feet differ slightly in size so I can tell it was hand-carved. I’d guess it's early nineteenth century. 

I turn to Dean, “What is it?” 

He sighs and rubs the back of his neck, “The light show was probably caused by the glass.” He starts walking on and I sigh. 

“Dean, there’s no way we can go through everything down here. We need more to go on. I mean, c’ mon man, we don’t even know what the object is yet.” 

He stops in front of a box and pulls out a porcelain doll. He grimaces and tosses it back into the box. I hope it didn’t break. 

“Yeah… you’re probably right.” He walks back over to me. We continue our discussion as we head back out to the car. Dean made sure to park it in the furthest corner away from the street lights and the Impala is barely visible as we get in. Dean puts the keys in the ignition but doesn’t start it. Instead, he turns to me. 

“What are we missing? They all go to _this_ church, they all met in the basement. That’s where they died… it _has_ _to be_ down there.” Frowning, he chews his lip in thought. I lean my head against the cold glass of the window and try to figure out what we overlooked. 

Back to basics, I guess. “Why don’t we talk to the Mommy and Me group? See if there’s anything they remember about that night. Maybe one of them saw something.” 

Dean offers a distracted nod and turns the car on. He’s lost in thought as we drive back to the motel. When we arrive, he doesn’t say a word, just strips and crawls into bed beside Molly. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POV: Molly

I feel the bed dip when you get out of bed and roll over. You walk into the bathroom and close the door. The light turns on underneath and then a few minutes later the water runs in the sink. I watch the door, waiting for you to come back out. Things are a little better than they were when I arrived, but there’s still tension between us. Something is bothering you and I wish you would tell me what it is so I could help. 

The sink turns off and then the doorknob turns, but the door only opens about five inches before slamming shut. I sit up in bed at the same time your brother does. 

“What was that?” he asks. 

I shrug, “Dean? He’s in the bathroom.” 

A loud bang makes me jump. Sam lunges from the bed and grabs the shotgun from his duffle. I get out of bed while Sam rushes over to the bathroom door. There’s a clanging sound and Sam tries to open the door. When it refuses to budge, he curses and yells for you. 

“DEAN!” 

We hear you curse and then another loud crash. I’m guessing by the sound that the shower rod fell when you landed in the bathtub. Sam kicks at the door with his bare foot, then growls and rams the door with his shoulder. The doorjamb splinters. He cocks the gun and shoots. I jump up and hurry over to the doorway. 

You’re lying in an awkward sprawl in the bathtub. Sam’s trying to rouse you while checking for major injuries. 

I grip the doorknob tightly in my hand, “Is he okay?” 

“Yeah, fucking ghost threw him against the wall. His head’s going to hurt when he wakes up and he’ll be sore, but he’ll be okay.” Sam replies as he lifts you from the tub. I follow your brother over to his bed and crawl up beside you. I wish you would open your eyes. Just tell me your okay… 

Sam grabs his small flashlight and carefully checks your eyes. You groan and swat at him. 

“Sammy, go away.” 

I breathe a sigh of relief and share a look with your brother. He nods so I gently move your head into my lap and pet your hair. “You okay?” I ask quietly. 

You smile, “I’m good.” You look over to your brother and grimace, “Chest hurts like a bitch. You get her?” 

Sam nods and bends over so he can inspect the red marks on your chest, “Yeah. She’s gone for now.” 

He gently touches the reddened skin and you hiss, “Could you not?” 

Sam frowns and walks back over to his duffle. He pulls out the medkit, digs around until he finds a small packet. He brings it over to the bed and rips it open then applies the blue-tinted gel onto your chest. He takes a seat on our bed. You slowly rise and then scoot back. I prop up a few pillows behind you and then settle beside you. 

Your brother frowns while you grab my hand and pull it onto your lap. You rub your thumb across the top of my hand and my heartbeat finally slows. You’re okay. Alive. 

Sam grabs his laptop and then asks you, “Okay, walk me through your day. Everything you touched, saw. Everyone you spoke to.” 

You sigh and run a hand over your head. 

“Woke up. Molly’s here. Bitched at you. Fought with her. Left. Went to the bar, drank. You showed up. I kicked your ass. Chick-flick moment. Came back. Uh, looked at the pictures with you. Went for a drive with Baby. Went to the fucking meeting, met up with you guys at the diner. Went back to the church with you. Then… uh, came back here.” 

Sam types as you speak, then pauses to ask you another question, “Who’d you talk to?” 

You lick your lips and yawn, “Uh, You, Molly, waitress at the diner, the guys at the meeting.” 

“Who were they?” 

“Who?” 

“The men at the meeting.” 

You smirk, “Sorry, Sammy, can’t tell you that. It’s anonymous, remember?” 

Sam gives you his bitchface and you chuckle, “Alright, alright. Uh, Baldie was there, the moderator or whatever, and nine other guys. I remember seeing two of them at the church service yesterday. The rest? No clue.” 

More typing from Sam. He doesn’t look up from the screen when he asks, “What did you touch at the church?” 

You raise your eyebrows and look at your brother in disbelief. “You’re joking, right?” 

“Dean, we know that it’s something in the church. And she attacked you tonight, after you were there, so it has to be something you touched  _ today _ .” 

You rise from the bed and pace the floor, gesturing wildly. “I don’t know! I touched a hundred things while I was there! You were there, remember?! That place was crammed full of random shit! And you want me to make a fucking list?”

Sam sets his laptop aside and tracks you with his eyes. I watch in silence. 

“Dean. That’s our best shot at identifying the cursed object. You obviously touched something that triggered the death omen. We don’t have any other leads! We have to figure out what it is and our best chance is eliminating the items you touched one-by-one.” 

You stop and raise your head, turn towards Sam, “Maybe not. I think we should talk to the Mommy and Me group. It’s definitely something in the church basement and you said that they reuse supplies, right? Maybe it’s something that’s used during the meetings.” 

Sam gets up from the bed and walks over to you. “Okay, so what items were used during the Gamblers Anonymous meeting?” 

“Folding chairs, table, fancy coffee pot, teacups, spoons, sugar bowl--” 

I speak up from the bed, “A fancy coffee pot?” 

You and Sam look at me. 

“Yeah, it was uh, metal, maybe silver? Had these handles and it was engraved.” 

Sam hurries over to the table and grabs the pictures from the website. He sifts through them until he finds the one he’s looking for. 

“Like this?” he asks you. 

You squint at the picture and nod, “Yeah, that’s it. Seemed a little weird for a meeting with a bunch of dudes to have such a fancy coffee pot, but after what you said earlier I just figured it was something they reused instead of springing for a Keurig.” 

“This isn’t a coffee pot, Dean. It’s a samovar . They were used back in the 1800s to boil water for tea. It wasn’t used for coffee until later.” 

“A samovar?” 

“Yeah, there were originally made from silver, brass, and pewter . But they can also be tin or porcelain. Did you touch it tonight?” 

“No, Sam, I used the Force to pour my coffee.” I grin and cough to cover a chuckle. “Of course I touched it!” 

I frown and walk over to you. You wrap your arms around me and rest your chin on my head, “Wait. You’re saying I got cursed by a fucking teapot?” 

Sam is busily typing on the laptop while scribbling something down in his notebook. I turn and rest my cheek against your chest. Thankfully, the gel has dried though your skin still has a slightly blue tinge to it. 

“But didn’t all those other guys use it too?” I ask you. 

“Uh, yeah. They did… Shit.” You sigh and grab my hand, lead me over to the bed. Stare down at your brother until he looks up. “We’d kind of like our bed back.” 

Sam glances at the other bed then down at the papers strewn around him. He huffs, “Right. Sorry.” He grabs them and sets them on his laptop then carries them over to his bed. 

I climb into bed and you follow, sitting up against the headboard. 

“Molly has a point, Sam. If the sandobar--” 

“ _ Sam _ ovar” Sam corrects without looking up. 

“-- was cursed then everyone who drank out of it should be dead. But they’re not. So it has to be something else… ” You trail off when I lean over and kiss you. 

One of your hands slides into my hair while the other grabs my waist and guides me onto your lap. I straddle you and toss my head back when you kiss my neck. Sam’s lost in research so he doesn’t notice when your hand travels underneath my shirt and rests on my lower back. We won’t have sex while your brother’s in the room, but making out is okay. 

You bite my earlobe and I moan softly. I quickly turn to check on Sam and find him still mumbling to himself, a pencil resting between his teeth as he searches the papers on the bed for something. You grab my thigh and flip us over, I giggle and loop my arms around your neck. You duck your head and steal my breath, kissing me deeply while your fingers skim over my belly. You push my shirt up and then lift me with one arm so you can remove it. 

“Sammy, go take a shower.” 

Sam looks up and cringes, “C'mon, Dean, we’re working.”

You kiss me and then glance at your brother. “You’re working. I’m busy. Now,  _ go _ take a shower.” 

“Ugh, fine.” Sam gets up and walks over to the busted bathroom door. He points at us and scowls, “But when I use up all the hot water you don’t get to bitch about it.” 

You chuckle and sit up so you can pull my panties off. They end up on the floor along with your underwear. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POV: Sam

Although I’m happy Dean and Molly made up, I’m ready to finish this case so I can have my own room again. They’ve been fondling each other all morning. The room stinks of sex and I’m pretty sure they even did it in the shower while I was out picking up breakfast. There are clothes strewn all over the room and now they’re napping together while I try to suss out the cursed object. 

Once again, the clock is ticking, counting down my brother’s demise. I’ll be damned if I let some fucking tea set kill him. Because although Molly was right when she pointed out that there should be more deaths if it really is the samovar, the items at the meeting still hold the highest chance of being the cursed object. The death omen came for Dean after the GA meeting. And all four of the previous victims died at the church either during a group activity or just after. I look down at the blown-up images in my lap and frown. It  _ has _ to be one of these items. 

I already ruled out the table and chairs. The table is one of the folding ones with a hard plastic top and metal legs with a bar that holds them in place. It isn’t old enough. The woman in the bathroom the other night had appeared in Victorian-era clothing . Her skirt had a bustle in the back and she wore a long-sleeved form-fitting blouse. Her hair had been in a tight bun and I’m pretty sure I saw apron strings around her waist. I didn’t get a great view from the back, I was a bit busy saving Dean, but I’m thinking maybe she was a servicewoman? That would explain her connection to the church’s kitchen supplies as well as the apron and lack of photographs. 

I sip my coffee and scroll through the articles in the police database. After about ten minutes though, I groan. The archive only goes back to 1905. Crap. 

Dean opens his eyes and sits up, swings his feet to the floor. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing. I found a lead, but the police records don’t go back far enough.” 

He runs his hands over his head and squints at his watch then gets up and walks over to the table. His eyes brighten when he sees the coffee cup and he takes a healthy gulp before digging around in the paper bag and pulling out the styrofoam containers. He opens the first and curls his lip, then pops the lid on the other one. Satisfied, he snags a plastic fork and walks back to the bed. While he eats his omelet, bacon, and hashbrowns, I fill him in on what I found. 

“So I’m pretty sure she was a servicewoman at the church when she died. I thought maybe if I could figure out who she was, then maybe her identity can lead us to the cursed object.” 

Dean shoves the last bite of food into his mouth and then places the empty container on the nightstand. “Okay. So if she worked at the church, we need to check out the employment records.” 

I purse my lips, “It isn’t going to be easy. The pastor isn’t just going to hand them over for us to take a look.” 

Dean walks over to his duffle and rifles through it. He sniffs each item of clothing he pulls out. He grabs a clean pair of underwear, a dirty pair of socks, a shirt that barely passes the sniff test and then walks into the bathroom. He pokes his head out and grins, “That’s why I’m going to distract Rev. Wall Street while you sneak into his office and find the record book.” 

The door shuts behind him and I hear the shower start. I groan. I  _ hate  _ searching through church records. It makes me feel bad like I’m stealing a religious artifact or something. Dean, on the other hand, doesn’t give a shit. If it’s information we need to finish the job, it doesn’t matter if it’s from a church, a school, or a little old lady’s house, Dean will grab it, use it and then put it back (if possible). 

I start to plan a reason for us to switch. I can distract the pastor while Dean searches. My brother won’t be as neat as me, but he’ll be fast. Plus, I already have a rapport with the pastor so it will be easier for me to strike up a conversation. 

A loud bang comes from the bathroom and I jump. Molly groans and burrows deeper into the blankets. I look over at the closed door. “Jesus, dude! You okay in there?” 

The shower is still running and I grow concerned when there’s no answer from Dean. I set my research to the side and walk over to the bathroom door. 

“Dean? You alright?” I ask as I knock. The water shuts off and then I hear another bang followed by Dean cursing. Molly’s sitting up now, her hair mussed. 

He finally answers, “Ow! Fuck! Yeah, I’m fine.  _ Just forgot how to walk apparently… _ ”

I sit back down on the bed and prep for the debate I know he’ll put up when I suggest  _ he _ should search the office. 

Dean exits the bathroom, rubbing his elbow and I chuckle. He walks toward his bed and Molly, then does a one-eighty and heads over to the sink. He fills a glass with water and drinks it. 

“Hey, Sammy? Did we ever figure out how she died?” His voice shakes. 

I stare at my brother and frown, “Uh, no. We have to identify her before we can do that…” 

Dean nods. "Right..." He walks back into the bathroom. But he doesn’t close the door so Molly and I hear when he lifts the toilet seat and vomits. 

“Dean?” 

The only answer is more retching so I get up. I lean against the doorframe, watching my big brother purge his guts for the third time in two days. This is not good. Molly slips past me and kneels beside Dean, rubs his back.

When he’s done, Dean rests his forehead on his arm and speaks from the depths of the toilet bowl, “Yeah, I think I have an idea about that. She was poisoned.” 

“Poisoned? Are you sure?” 

Dean raises his head to glare at me then groans and lays it back down.  _ Touche _ .

Molly turns to me with a worried frown. I try to focus on the facts. It’s the only way I’ll be able to save him. “Okay, so if she was poisoned, there would be medical documentation. If we narrow down the type of poison, I can check the records for matching victims.” 

“Dizzy. Nausea. Vomiting. No coordination.” It takes me a minute to realize Dean is listing all of his symptoms. “Uh, I have to pee a lot and I’ve been…  _ drooling _ .” 

“Drooling?” I ask. 

“Yes, drooling. I woke up in a puddle of spit this morning. And when Molly and I kissed last night it was…  _ sloppier  _ than usual.” 

Molly grimaces, nods, “It was.” 

I close my eyes and hold up a hand, “Okay, gross, stop. You said you have to go to the bathroom a lot? I’ve been with you all day, Dean. You weren’t peeing any more than normal.” 

Dean placed his hand on the rim of the bowl and carefully sits up, closing his eyes when the room spins. I help him off the floor then lead him over to the sink where he grips the countertop for dear life as he sways. He rinses his mouth and meets my eyes in the mirror. 

“Okay,  _ first _ , why do you know how much I normally pee? That’s just weird.  _ B _ , you haven’t been with me all day. She has. And  _ three _ , could you please just shut up and help me over to the bed? Feel like I’m on a fucking tilt-o-whirl.” 

I slide my arm around his waist and guide him over to his bed, while Molly takes care of clean up. The maybe fifteen-foot distance takes us about ten minutes because Dean’s coordination sucks right now. He can’t seem to walk straight and when he reaches for me after finally sitting on the mattress, it takes him three tries to grab my shirt. Molly gets on the bed behind him and props the pillows up so he won’t have to lie flat then gently eases him down. As soon as his head hits the pillow, Dean lunges for the edge of the bed and throws up on the floor. I sigh and walk into the bathroom to grab a towel to lay over the puddle then set the trash can on top of it. 

With Molly watching Dean, I get back on my computer and start looking up nineteenth-century poisons.  _ Arsenic… cyanide… belladonna…  _ None of the usuals match his symptoms. 

“ _ Sam… _ ” 

I don’t look up from the webpage when I answer my brother, “Hm?”  _ It has to be here somewhere! If I could just narrow it down…  _

“Sam, I can’t feel my toes.” 

I raise my head and look over at Dean. He’s terrified, squeezing Molly’s hand so tightly I can see him cutting off her circulation. I remove the sheet covering him and pinch his big toe. No reaction. I watch his face when I flick the bottom of his foot, still nothing.  _ Shit, we’re running out of time! _

Molly keeps looking at me, silently begging me to save Dean. I place my hands on his shins and apply light pressure. “Tell me if you can’t feel this.” I rack my brain, pulling up all the information I’ve ever learned about poisons.  _ Frequent urination, loss of coordination, excessive salivation, vomiting, partial paraly--  _ “That’s it!” 

“What’s it?” Molly asks at the same time Dean growls, “Feel free to share with the class, Sammy.” 

“Hemlock--” 

“SAM!” 

Molly yells my name and I look over to see my big brother convulsing on the bed. His entire body is arching off the mattress, his neck at an odd angle, only the whites of his eyes visible. Panic sets in and I lunge for Dean. Once his body starts to relax, I roll him onto his side. 

“Keep him on his side if you can. Call 9-1-1 if he gets worse.” I instruct the frightened woman on the bed as I grab my jacket and the keys to the Impala.

“Worse?! Where are you going? Sam!?” 

I turn to her with my hand on the doorknob. “Yes, Molly,  _ worse. _ As in, if Dean stops breathing, call for help. I’ll hurry. Just try to keep him calm when he becomes lucid.” 

With that, I shut the door behind me. I shove the key in the ignition and hit the gas as soon as the engine starts. As I peel out of the parking lot, I pray to Chuck that there are no cops on the road to the church.  _ Dean is dying. _ I dare them to try and stop me. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POV: Dean

As soon as I wake up, everything hurts. My chest, my tongue, every muscle in my body is sore. I groan and peel open one eye to find Sam sitting in a chair beside my bed.  _ Wait a minute…  _ Sure enough, when I look around the room, I see the familiar concrete walls of my bedroom in the bunker, not the crappy peeling wallpaper of the motel.

Something stirs to my right and I look down to see you pressed up against me. You’re fully dressed, same as Sam. I take a quick inventory and determine I’m in my sweats and a tee-shirt, socks, no shoes. 

“What happened?” I ask. 

Sam sighs and shoves a hand through his hair. 

“You almost died again.” I give a facial shrug since I can’t move without disturbing you. Sam continues. 

“I figured out you were poisoned by Hemlock about ten seconds before you started seizing. When it started to slow down, I hightailed it to the church.” 

I frown in confusion, “You figured out what the cursed object was?” 

“Well, no. But you were dying and I had to do something so I went to the church. I busted into the kitchen and scared the ladies half to death. All we knew was that it was something you touched during the meeting so I asked where they kept the supplies for the refreshments table--” 

I smirk, “ _ Asked _ ?” 

Sam ducks his head, a blush creeping up his neck. “Okay, so maybe I yelled. But you were dying and I was running out of time, Dean! I couldn’t waste time by asking politely.” 

“Mhm. Go on.” You mumble in your sleep and I wrap my arm around you, stroke your hair. 

“So they brought out all of the dishes and I realized why the curse only affects one person at a time. Molly was right, Dean. It wasn’t the samovar. It was the teacup.”

My mouth drops open and I stare at him.  _ A teacup?!  _

Sam keeps talking, “So once I figured out that it was one of the cups, it was easy since you’d mentioned that the one you drank out of had a chip in it. All I had to do was find the right one and melt it down in a pot on the stove.” 

I think I may be in shock… “I was poisoned by a fucking  _ teacup _ ?” 

Sam nods. “Yeah, the hardest part was actually finding the bones of Martha Matherson.” 

I snap out of my mental tirade against Chip from Beauty and the Beast. “Martha Who?”

“Matherson. She was the cup’s first victim, the one who tossed you into the bathtub.” 

“Haha.” Careful not to jostle you too much, I sit up. “And she was poisoned with hemlock?” 

“Yeah, one of the ladies of the church, Miss Sarah Kenton, got jealous over the attention her fiance showed Martha and she poisoned her by smearing ground hemlock on the rim of her teacup.”

I shake my head with a grimace, “Hell hath no fury…” Sam nods and sits back in his chair. You sigh and snuggle into me. I smile. 

“Dean, you should know, Molly stayed with you while I went to the church. And she had to call an ambulance when you stopped breathing. When I got to you two at the hospital, she was hysterical. It took me almost an hour to calm her down and then when we left, she refused to let go of you. She rode in the back with you the entire way home.” 

Jesus, I wish you didn’t have to go through that. No wonder you were glued to me. I’d practically died right in front of you. I lean down and kiss the top of your head then look over at Sam. He may be upright, but I know he’s just as exhausted as you, if not more. It takes a lot out of a guy, almost losing his brother. I’d been in that position so many times I’d lost count but I remember exactly how draining it can be. Plus, not only was he worried about me, but he also probably felt guilty having to leave you while he went to find the teacup. 

Your eyes open and I smile at you, “Hey, beautiful.” 

“Dean?” You scramble up and run your hands over my face and chest.

I notice Sam quietly leave, shutting the door behind him to allow us some privacy. I capture your frantic hands and lean forward, kiss you gently. That lasts for about five seconds and then you’re pressing yourself against me, deepening the kiss while I bury my hands in your soft blonde hair. 

I didn’t realize how much I needed you until you straddle me and shove my sweats down. The sex is frantic and desperate. The need to touch, to feel each other all-consuming as we move together. My hands skim down your sides. Your nails dig into my back. Sweat pools between us as we chase the finish line. And when it’s over, you collapse on my chest and I hug you close. 

“Molly… ” You lift your head and smile. The realization hits me so hard I lose my breath. I don’t ever want to let go. I want this,  _ us _ , to last forever. I want you to stay with me, always. 

When the next words tumble out of my mouth, I’m not sure who’s more surprised, you or me. 

_ Will you marry me?  _

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos appreciated! Kind, constructive comments welcome only.


End file.
